


When Your Heart Beats (Next to Mine)

by poisonivory, returnsandreturns, Werelibrarian



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Abstinence, Catholic Guilt, First Love, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 02:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11347986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonivory/pseuds/poisonivory, https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werelibrarian/pseuds/Werelibrarian
Summary: “Only someone who’s never had an orgasm would say that orgasms are not big a deal,” Foggy retorts. “I mean, how old were you when decided that Jesus wanted you to be sad forever?”“Not forever, just until marriage,” Matt corrects. “And I was eleven.”“So you…what, just never jerked off?” Foggy asks. “Not once, all through puberty?”“Not once.”





	When Your Heart Beats (Next to Mine)

**Author's Note:**

> The round robin that started [from this post!](http://http://returnsandreturns.tumblr.com/post/162052432848/i-was-going-through-a-box-of-book-donations-and)
> 
> (The title is from "Like a Virgin" because I felt like it was necessary -- returnsandreturns)

“Wait, never?” Foggy repeats. “ _Never_  never? Never  _ever?_ ” 

Matt shrugs. “Never.”

“Okay, but  _kind_  of never, or  _really_  never?”

“I don’t think there’s such a category as ‘somewhat never.’ It’s all or nothing.”

“Oh, don’t you get pedantic with me, Murdock,” Foggy scolds, and Matt hides a smile, because they’ve only lived together for two months, but he already knows that Foggy thinks it’s funny when he’s pedantic. “There is a  _big_  difference between locking your virtue away in a tower and…and swinging from the rafters of an orgy every night.”

“Well, you and I are very different people,” Matt says placidly, and grins when Foggy chokes on a laugh. “Honestly, it’s really not that big a deal.”

“Only someone who’s never had an orgasm would say that orgasms are not big a deal,” Foggy retorts. “I mean, how old were you when decided that Jesus wanted you to be sad forever?”

“Not forever, just until marriage,” Matt corrects. “And I was eleven.”

“So you…what, just never jerked off?” Foggy asks. “Not once, all through puberty?”

“Not once.”

“What about wet dreams?”

Matt feels his cheeks heat up. “What?”

“Wet dreams? You know, nocturnal emissions? When you’re dreaming about something sexy and you just…”

“No, no, I know what they are,” Matt says. “I just, um, I didn’t…” Didn’t ever consider having to have this conversation. “It’s not your fault if you don’t… _do_  anything to make it happen. It’s about not committing a sexual sin against oneself, not completely ignoring biology.”

“I don’t know, man, it sounds a bit like ignoring biology to me,” Foggy says. “I couldn’t go two days without jerking off, I’d explode.”

Matt knows, but he doesn’t think now’s the right time to tell Foggy that Matt can hear him in the bathroom, or at night when he thinks Matt’s asleep. He pushes away the memory of Foggy’s bitten-off breathing and shrugs. “It’s not for everyone.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Foggy says. “Don’t you ever wonder, though?”

Matt thinks about those bitten-off breaths again. “I’ll find out eventually.”

Foggy stands up and pats Matt on the shoulder. “You’re a stronger man that I am, Murdock. Let me know if you ever change your mind and want to try some sexual sinning sooner rather than later.”

Matt’s mouth hangs open.

“I’m sure Marci can introduce you to someone,” Foggy continues blithely. “I’m headed to the coffee shop, can I get you anything?”

“Nope. Nope, I’m good,” Matt says, a little strangled, as Foggy shrugs into his jacket. “See you later, buddy.”

The door closes. Matt shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

He made a  _vow_ , damn it.

**

It’s got to be a direct test from God that a few days later, a dream about sitting in class with Foggy goes kind of sideways into the sound of Foggy’s laughter in his ear, Matt’s hands on his face, their bodies warm and pressed together and sweat and Foggy’s heart racing and the  _noises_ Foggy makes in the middle of the night and–

 _And_ Matt’s boxers are damp and sticking to him when he wakes up, gasping for air, curling his fingers in his sheets while everything–settles down. Great.  _Great._

He lies there for a long time listening to Foggy snoring before he decides that the temptation’s died down enough that he can get up and change, guiltily shoving the boxers deep into his laundry bag.

When he’s climbing back into bed, Foggy stirs with a yawn and asks, “You okay, buddy?”

Matt freezes like he’s been caught in the act. The act of what, he’s not sure. Dream lusting? Hidden impure impulses? Unconscious gay thoughts?

“Fine!” he says, a little too loudly, then immediately dives to hide under his sheets. Foggy snorts softly and falls back asleep a few seconds later, leaving Matt to justify some things to himself. It wasn’t his fault that it happened, after all, and it would only be a problem if he was  _consciously_ thinking about Foggy’s body and what exactly it could do with his  _own_ body and whether Foggy would make the same noises that he makes when he’s touching himself if Matt was the one–

Matt’s dick stirs in his clean boxers.

He should maybe pray about this.

**

Matt comes back from church, his knees stiff from the kneeler and his fingertips tingling from the rosary beads passing through them over and over, and he feels just about in control enough to take Foggy up on that trip to Central Park he’s been bugging Matt about for days.

“It is such a gorgeous day,” Foggy says, with a fervency and lust for life that Matt can’t help but smile. “Birds, toddlers running aroundcareful–aw, there’s even a wedding over there.”

Matt wrings his cane in both hands. The justice of the peace says, “I now pronounce you married,” and there’s uproarious laughter and applause as the couple throw their arms around each other.

“Wow, what a kiss,” Foggy remarks as they pass, “someone’s going to have a hell of a wedding night.”

Matt trips directly over his own feet and almost eats gravel path. Thankfully, Foggy catches him around the waist and hauls him up.

“Holy crap, Matt, you ok? I’m going to write a strongly worded letter about these uneven paths.”

Because that’s the point, isn’t it? Of waiting until marriage? That there’s one person God made just for you, and it’s only with them that you learn who you really are, what your body is really for, what pleasure truly is. You wait till it’s right, and it’s right because he waited, and every touch Matt lays on Foggy’s body will be like a holy judgement in how _right_ it will be. Proof that God has provided, that Matt _can_ be cherished, and--and _loved,_ and--

“Matt, hey.” Foggy snaps his fingers in front of Matt’s face. “What’s going on, buddy?

“M’fine,” Matt says faintly.

“You were in outer space, man. I know you weren’t up for it before, but do you want to hold my arm, at least till we get back on the sidewalk?

“You sure?” Matt gulps.

“Course, I offered! Once more around the park?” He takes Matt’s outstretched hand and wraps it around his arm. Under worn canvas, Matt squeezes a firm, warm, strong bicep.

“Sorry, what? Oh. Right. Lead on.”

**

Walking is torture.

Normally when this happens, he distracts himself with studying until it goes away, or prays, or meditates. But he’s prayed the morning away already, and he doesn’t know how to ask Foggy to let him sit cross-legged in the grass until he feels a bit more centered and a big less…excited.

Studying it is, then, and he makes Foggy talk through what might be on their contract law exam next week, even though it makes Foggy sigh heavily and call him Matt  _Nerd_ ock again. 

It doesn’t help. He’s keyed up enough that every brush of material over his sensitive skin sends a tremor through him - and his pants have grown tight enough that there’s a lot of brushing. He can feel Foggy’s pulse beating through the broad, warm bicep beneath his fingers, and every time Foggy turns his head he shakes loose a cloud of bright shampoo scent and the faintest sheen of sweat from walking. Matt has no desire to taste the shampoo, but the sweat…

“…should have put on sunblock,” Foggy says.

“What?” Matt asks.

“I said, maybe you should have put on sunblock,” Foggy says. “You’re awfully red.”

It’s not the sun that’s bringing color to Matt’s cheeks, but he’s not about to say that. “I’m okay,” he says. “Maybe - maybe we should head back home now, though.”

“Sure,” Foggy says. “Or maybe - uh.”

His heart, so steady and familiar, suddenly starts racing. Matt scans the park with his senses, searching for anything dangerous, trying to figure out why Foggy’s heart is racing…

Oh. Foggy is looking down. At  _him_.

Foggy  _knows_.

“…Maybe you should sit down for a while?” Foggy asks, sounding strangled. “Or, uh, I could find you a bathroom? No, you don’t use the bathroom - I mean, you  _use_  the bathroom, you just don’t, um, use it for, um - ”

“Please stop talking,” Matt begs.

Foggy’s teeth clack shut. But a second later: “Okay, but you’re basically limping here, buddy. What do you want me to do?”

 _Let me touch you and make it up to God later_ , Matt thinks. He can’t say that. He takes a deep breath.

And that’s when he realizes he’s not the only one who smells aroused.

**

He’s having to actively resist the urge to  _sniff_  Foggy, on top of things he’s too embarrassed to begin thinking about, tipping his head back to the sky like he’ll find some answers there.

“Okay,  _you_ look like you’re panicking,” Foggy says. “It’s hard to tell because you’re so cool all the time, but–hey, it’s okay! Perfectly natural, actually, y’know, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much–” 

“ _Don’t_ give me the sex talk,” Matt says, huffing out a nervous laugh, fingers still clenching around Foggy’s arm. 

“Did you ever get the sex talk?” Foggy asks. 

“Probably not the same one you did,” Matt says. 

“More hellfire,” Foggy says, knowingly. 

There’s a hushed silence between them–Foggy looking at his face, Matt listening to Foggy’s heart. 

“What do you want, Matt?” Foggy asks, eventually, smiling, like he’s not asking Matt a question he’s never let himself answer. Like it’s not  _hard_.

Matt wants so much at once that he can’t put it to words yet. He wants Foggy to touch him but also kind of wants to run off and drown himself in the pond; he wants to taste the sweat on Foggy’s skin but can’t stand the thought of feeling guilty about it afterward. He  _wants_. 

Foggy wants something, too.

He takes a deep breath and all of it is Foggy. 

“Let’s go home,” he says, quietly.

**

Foggy natters gamely all the way back to the dorm. He fills the silence like it’s his job, through the front door, up the stairs, down the hallway, and while he rummages in his pocket for his keys. But once Matt lets go of his arm and lowers himself to the bed, slowly, like he’s in pain, the distracting torrent of words dries up and the mix of desire and guilt resumes frothing up in Matt’s head.

“What do you want, Matt?” Foggy asks again.

“I don’t know,” it’s not a lie–how could he know what he wants if he hasn’t experienced it yet–but no amount of prayer has softened his imagination. Right now he’s imagining the taste and texture of Foggy’s skin under his tongue, and it’s so vivid it’s making the hair on his arms stand up. “You keep talking about it and I–” he makes a helpless gesture.

“Ok, but what about the hellfire?” Foggy asks, and even though his dick is trying to kill him, he’s actually a bit moved that Foggy’s taking his faith seriously.

“I know,” Matt says nervously.

Foggy sits down on the bed next to him, fidgeting with his hoodie zipper. “Listen, what if you didn’t?”

“Didn’t what?”

“Uh, what did you say it was? ‘Commit a sexual sin against yourself’. What if you, you know, didn’t.”

Matt blinks. He’s not an expert but he doesn’t think this is Foggy telling him that this is the end of a very awkward conversation. He still smells aroused–rich and earthy–and part of Matt’s brain, the animal part that isn’t settled by all the praying, is telling him that what Foggy smells is  _ready_. So what on earth is he talking about?

“If I don’t–” 

“If you want to, but you can’t  _sin_ , well. You’re a lawyer, Matt. Or you’re gonna be. You gotta learn about loopholes sometime.” 

“I…what?” Matt asks.

**

Foggy sighs. He’s still playing with his hoodie zipper, and Matt wants him to stop. Matt wants him to unzip it all the way. Matt wants to do it with his teeth.

“Okay, first I’m putting out a disclaimer that this is a really weird situation and I never expected to have this conversation and if this is too strange or insulting or you’re just not into it, we’ll drop it immediately and never speak of it again and still be best friends, got it?” Foggy asks.

Matt nods, and if he wasn’t already blushing furiously, he thinks he might be turning pink just at that. Foggy called Matt his  _best friend_.

“But if you can’t commit the, uh, the sexual sin, what if…” Foggy’s cheeks are fiercely hot. Matt wants to turn and press his face to the closest one. “What if I did it for you?”

Matt’s not sure if he’s more confused by the offer or by how desperately he suddenly wants Foggy to do it, to just get himself off sitting there on Matt’s bed, close enough to touch. Still… “I, uh, don’t think it works that way,” he says. “First of all, you didn’t make any vows of chastity that I know of, and second of all, I’m not sure how  _you_  jerking off is going to help with, uh…” He gestures at his lap. He would have thought humiliation would have killed his boner by now, but apparently his dick is as stubborn as the rest of him.

“No, I mean…” Foggy makes a frustrated noise. “What if I did it  _for_  you? Uh, to you? Just, um, helped you out?”

Matt can’t stare, but he tries his best.

“That way you’re not the one committing the sin, you know?” Foggy asks. “You’re just there for the ride.  _I’m_  the one sinning, and I sin all the time, so who the hell cares? See, there you go: swearing. A sin. No biggie.”

It’s pretty obvious that he’s babbling, but Matt doesn’t think it’s just because he’s nervous. Foggy still smells hot and eager and Matt thinks - he’s not sure but he  _thinks_  - it’s because Foggy wants to do this.

It’s because Foggy wants  _him_.

But this isn’t sex, so why would Foggy want to do it? He’s not getting anything out of it. He’d just be touching Matt. It’s not like Matt’s dying to get his hands on Foggy without any expectation of getting anything in return…

Another wave of heat rushes through Matt. Well. Maybe it’s a little like that.

He should say no. This is a technicality, and they both know it, and while technicalities may work in a court of law, Matt’s pretty sure they don’t hold much water with God. It’s not like he hasn’t turned down offers of sex before - kids who didn’t grow up in Catholic orphanages can be  _very_  forward, he’s learned - or willed away an erection before. And Foggy promised that things wouldn’t get weird. All he has to do is open his mouth, say “No thank you,” and move on.

He opens his mouth.

“Okay,” he says.

**

“…okay?” Foggy asks, surprised. “Oh, okay! Huh, I was  _not_  expecting you to actually say yes.”

“If you were joking, I’ll kill you,” Matt says, flatly, a little hoarse. “I’ll kill you right here.”

“No jokes!” Foggy says, heart racing full force again, laughing. “I’m  _very_ serious about the friendly sinning that’s about to go down. _One-sided_ sinning. You’ll just sit there and look pretty and be–sinned upon.”

“ _Please_ stop saying the word sin,” Matt groans, trying not to think too hard about Foggy calling him pretty, shoulders slumping forward before he lifts his head to give Foggy a beseeching look. “Can we just get this over with?”

“Wow, cool, no romancing,” Foggy says, clapping his hands, and Matt feels bad immediately. Foggy’s about to do possibly the nicest thing that anybody has ever done for Matt. He could be a little more gracious.

“ _Sorry_ ,” he says. “Sorry, I’m just–”

Unable to form appropriate words to describe the level of desperation and embarrassment (and excitement and fear and excitement) that he’s feeling right now, he just makes another vaguely upset gesture at his erection. Foggy steps forward to clasp Matt’s shoulder.

“You are about to have a life-changing experience, buddy,” he says, warmly. “Anything you say tonight can be struck from the record after you–uhm–after–after completion.”

Matt makes a face at him, nose wrinkling.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Foggy says. “I’m trying not to use sexy words and offend your Catholic sensibilities. Also, let’s go, take your pants off. Or–wait, do you want me to take your pants off? Would taking your own pants off make you complicit?”

I don’t care, Matt thinks.

“I  _don’t care_ ,” he says, out loud, and Foggy makes a noise like he’s trying not to laugh and then does something terrible. 

He kneels down in front of Matt and curls two big, warm hands around his knees and suddenly all Matt can think about is Foggy’s mouth and all of the things Foggy could possibly do with it–like kissing. And  _other things_. Matt’s lustful thoughts hadn’t even  _made_   _it_ that far. 

“Fair enough. You ready?” Foggy asks. His voice is a little odd, kind of hesitant, but one of his hands moves confidently to rest low on Matt’s stomach, fingers brushing over the button on his jeans and just staying there.

Matt takes a deep breath. He’s not sure that he’s ready, but at the same time, he’s so,  _so_ ready and has maybe never been more ready in his life.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

**

“Pop,” Foggy says, as he unfastens the button on Matt’s jeans.

Matt’s teeth sink into his bottom lip.

“Still ok?” Matt nods, a little frantically, and makes a punched-out noise when Foggy drags the zipper down. The relief is–unspeakable. “Lean back, I’m going in,” Foggy says, and eases the waistband of his underwear down. Matt goes down on his elbows and tries not to fly off the surface of the planet.

Foggy’s heart trips in his chest and his fingers clench around Matt’s boxers. “That’s–” he croaks, coughs, clears his throat, “that’s a good piece of equipment you’ve got there. Full marks to God for the engineering of your–um.”

“I’ll tell Him next Sunday,” Matt chokes out, sort of wishing Foggy wasn’t talking about God while Matt’s dick is standing up in the breeze.

“Don’t tell Him it was me who said it,” Foggy says inanely, and that’s when Matt dies.

No, wait, that’s just Foggy’s hand wrapped around the base of his dick, firm grip and unbelievably smooth skin–a little damp from sweat and sliding fractionally up and down because Matt’s own heartbeat is making him twitch inside the circle of Foggy’s fingers.

“Still ok?” Foggy says, hushed. All Matt can do is exhale shakily and wobble his head. “Ok, hang onto your hat.”

Foggy’s hand slides up and does something to the head that makes Matt’s arms tremble and nearly fail to hold him up. He does it again and again, as Matt sweats and shakes and babbles various blasphemies. Foggy’s touch slides slickly over him and Matt just about shouts when he realizes it’s his own wetness, that’s _him_ making Foggy’s fingers wet.

He’s not sure why but he has a flash of Foggy’s sticky fingers in his mouth. He groans.

“Oh wow, you really like this,” Foggy says as Matt’s hips start to move of their own accord, and that’s–that’s too much, his voice,  _his_   _voice_ –oh God.

It’s like something’s going to burst out of his guts, he’s balanced on the point of a knife, so close–he doesn’t know close to what but he knows it’s going to happen,  _gonna_ –so  _close_ –

“Stop!” Matt screeches. Foggy’s hand freezes, then drops him like he’s on fire. “I’m sorry–” Matt pants through his grit teeth, “Foggy, I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry–” Foggy touches his calf, warm and steadying, but he lets Matt hyperventilate his words out. “I can’t do it.”

**

Foggy backs off immediately. “Okay,” he says. “That’s okay. That’s cool.” He backs off and sits on his own bed, hands clasped around each other. Matt’s relieved he’s so far away, even as he misses Foggy’s warmth - and his  _touch_  -

He tips his head back and tries to get control of his breathing. He’s still shaking, tremors running through him at uneven intervals, and so hard it  _hurts_. He should tuck himself away, but he’s not sure that wouldn’t set him off, so he just stays there, panting, even though he knows he must look a mess: sweaty and flushed, propped up on his elbows, pants open and legs spread.

“Jesus,” Foggy murmurs, and turns his head away. “Oops. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Matt manages, face tipped towards the ceiling.

“No, I mean, I’m sorry about…” Foggy makes a vague gesture towards Matt’s dick. “I shouldn’t have…that is…did I do something? That - that you didn’t like?”

The guilt at making Foggy sound so small and worried is as bad as the guilt over how close they came. Maybe worse. “No!” Matt says quickly, and struggles upright, wincing as the movement makes his dick bounce against his stomach. “No, you were really…I liked it. Too much. I just…can’t.” He spreads his hands. “Not on a technicality. I’m not  _supposed_  to be finding loopholes. I made a vow. What was the point if I give up as soon as it gets hard?”

“No pun intended, I assume?”

“Foggy.”

“Sorry.” He can hear the slide of skin on skin as Foggy wrings his hands. He wishes those hands were still on him. “So you’re not mad at me?”

“What? No!” Matt says again. “It was…it was really nice of you, Fog.”

 _Too_  nice. Matt didn’t promise to wait for the sake of following an arbitrary rule; he did it because he’s supposed to save it for someone special, for someone who loves him. Foggy maybe wants him and he certainly likes Matt well enough to invite him to parties and call Matt his best friend, but he doesn’t - that’s not  _enough_. This isn’t supposed to be a favor from a too-generous friend. It’s supposed to be the start of forever.

The fact that Matt can already kind of picture forever with Foggy is irrelevant.

“I know you were trying to help me out,” he continues, “but you didn’t have to…I mean, it’s not supposed to be just a thing buddies do for each other. It’s supposed to be…it would mean that you, that you felt…”

“That I had feelings for you,” Foggy finished and Matt nods.

Foggy takes in a rattling breath.

“Well,” he says. “About that…”

**

“…wait, what?” Matt asks, because Foggy draws off, laughing uncomfortably instead of finishing his sentence. There’s a hint of fear sweat in the room now, faint under the more overwhelming smells, but Matt doesn’t know why Foggy would be scared right now. He’s the one who’s all vulnerable and literally exposed here.

“Do  _not_ forget that you promised we could still be friends if this goes wrong, but—Matty, if you’re waiting for someone who loves you?” Foggy says, carefully, like he’s walking a high wire. “I—I think I’m pretty damn close.”

Matt’s first thought is  _well, that could make all of this much easier_  but his second thought is a more coherent version of what he says, which is, “You—I mean— _really?_ ”

“I don’t go around jerking off just any boy, Murdock,” Foggy says, wryly. “Not that it matters, because I assume your whole holy lovemaking covenant thing requires—you know, mutual feelings. Right?”

“Right,” Matt says, faintly, thinking about love and thinking about Foggy and knowing that those two things have never been all that far apart in his head—in his  _heart_. Foggy’s his best friend and his favorite person and Matt’s never felt like this about anyone, never felt something this  _right_ , sure in his chest. What is that if it isn’t love? The kind of love that can really last, that you can—express with your body and your hands?

Or—if it’s not that yet, it’s got to be pretty damn close.

Foggy sighs.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” he says, getting to his feet. “I think I’m gonna go—take a lap around the building or something—let you have some time alone—”

“ _No_ ,” Matt says, before he really gives himself permission to say it, leveraging himself to his feet. His jeans are slung dangerously low on his hips.

“No?” Foggy asks.

“ _No_ ,” Matt repeats, and he steps in until they’re standing close and he can find Foggy’s face with his hands. Foggy swallows hard. Matt’s fingers are shaking.

Neither of them does anything for a long horrible moment and then Foggy asks, weakly, “Is kissing a sin?” and Matt chokes on a laugh and kisses him instead of replying. Foggy’s lips are soft and he’s gentle when he touches Matt, cautious fingers curled in his hair and resting lightly on his neck, and Matt shifts forward so their bodies press together and  _that–_ that is a problem.

He lets out a startled moan against Foggy’s mouth then goes still before he takes one guilty step backwards.

“Okay, know that I’m not asking you this to pressure you but because I  _care_ ,” Foggy says, immediately, taking both of Matt’s hands in his. “But does this mean I can help you out with your whole situation here? Because I’ll wait until marriage if you need that, but things seem—pretty dire down south, buddy.”  

**

“I..I…” Matt runs a shaky hand over his forehead. Foggy’s not wrong–things have gone way past a trembling ache and into no-jokes pain–but his mind is spinning, and not just from the feeling of Foggy’s lips on his. “I want to,” he whispers.

“Ok, well, your mouth says yes but your eyebrows are saying ‘I need a grown up’, so. Uh. Wow, suddenly I feel bad I put you in this situation, but. You want me to dump ice down your pants?”

Matt lies down on the bed and throws his arm over his face. “I’m seriously considering it.”

“Aw,” Foggy sits down beside him and runs his fingers through Matt’s hair. Matt leans into the touch, which is tender and comforting and makes him sigh. “Would more kissing help?”

Matt grins up at him. “Definitely.”

So Foggy lies down, angled away from Matt’s aching body, and gently turns Matt’s face towards him.

“You’re pretty wonderful, you know,” Foggy murmurs, and kisses him.

“So’re you,” Matt says, when they break for air, and hates how far from enough that is. It’s ok, though, he thinks as he leans in for another kiss that Foggy readily gives, he has his whole life to think up the right words.

Matt’s eyes flash open. His whole life to..“Foggy.”

Foggy hums against Matt’s mouth, indolently, his fingers sneaking up the back of Matt’s sweatshirt, and Matt’s train of thought nearly skips the track.

“Uh, maybe I heard you wrong. But. Did you ask me to marry you back there?”

**

Foggy freezes, his lips still pursed and barely touching Matt’s own. “Uh.”

“…Foggy?”

Foggy pulls back and Matt briefly panics, but Foggy only goes far enough to bury his burning face in Matt’s neck. “I plead the fifth.”

“You  _did_ ,” Matt says. “Franklin Nelson.”

“It was in the heat of the moment!” Foggy protests. He doesn’t move his face, and Matt kind of loves the way his lips and his breath play over Matt’s neck, and kind of wants to die before he does something embarrassing like go off without even being touched properly. “Don’t be mad.”

Mad? Matt’s the furthest thing possible. He feels giddy and silly and…and  _loved_. He hasn’t had a family for nine years, and it’s crazy to talk about marriage when they’re only eighteen, when they’ve only known each other for two months, when they’ve only been kissing for two  _minutes_ …

But if it’s possible for him to have a family again, he doesn’t know anyone he’d want to have it with more than Foggy.

“I don’t think we should get married until after we finish undergrad at  _least_ ,” Matt says. “Maybe not until we pass the bar.”

Foggy pushes upright, presumably to stare at him. “ _Matthew_ ,” he says. “Are you accepting?”

“That depends on whether you were proposing,” Matt retorts.

“That depends on whether you plan on accepting.”

Matt swallows. He feels like the first time he tried to jump between two buildings, six stories off the ground - except that was just to see if he could, and this?

He really wants to see if he can reach the other side.

“I guess we’re engaged,” he says.

“ _Matthew_ ,” Foggy says again, in a very different tone, and kisses him again. Matt lets himself get lost in it, in kissing his - his  _fiance_ , kissing him until his lips are tingling and his blood is pounding and his hips are twitching helplessly against the air.

“Uh,” Foggy says when Matt lets out a particularly harsh breath against his mouth, and glances down. “I swear I’m not trying to push, I just want to make sure we’re on the same page here, but…are you planning on staying like that until we pass the bar?”

**

“Uhm,” Matt says, taking a deep breath. “Give me a second?”

“By all means,” Foggy says, kissing him one more time. “Pray on it.”

Matt moves to lie on his back, settling down, and Foggy lies next to him, as far away as he can on a twin bed—which is to say, their hips are still pressed together. After a moment, Matt finds Foggy’s hand to lace their fingers together, holding on tight while he thinks—initially about how  _warm_ Foggy feels next to him but he pulls it together enough to focus on the question at hand.

It was almost easy to wait before he had a real option, easy to avoid having a real option until he walked into a room and met  _Foggy_ —who complicated things. Who’s always complicating things. 

But, now, it’s not just Foggy’s heart speeding up when Matt changes or Matt lingering a little too long when Foggy hugs him, it’s—commitment. It’s putting words to all of it; it’s turning those words into promises.

If waiting is about finding the right person, Matt’s done waiting.

If this feeling isn’t holy, Matt’s not sure what  _is_.

He squeezes Foggy’s hand.

“You’re gonna marry me?” he asks, softly.

“Yeah, Matty,” Foggy says, sounding happier than Matt’s ever heard him sound—and  _Matt_  made him sound like that. “I’m gonna marry you. You gonna marry me?”

Matt laughs, turning to press his face into Foggy’s shoulder. Foggy turns to pull Matt in again so they’re curled up facing each other, and Matt smiles at him, whispers, “I’m gonna marry you.”

Matt pushes forward to kiss him intently, stroking Foggy’s hair a few times before he breaks the kiss, resting their foreheads together.

“I vowed to save myself for the person I wanted to be with forever,” Matt says, unable to keep his voice from shaking. “I’d still be keeping that vow if you touched me.”

“…well, shit,” Foggy breathes, and he moves to push Matt onto his back, climbing on top of him to straddle his hips. Matt grins up at him, hopelessly overwhelmed but  _happy_ , sitting up as much as he can to meet Foggy in a kiss.

“I want it,” he says, between kisses. “Fog—Foggy. I want you to be the first.”

Foggy sits up a little before leaning down to press a soft, close-mouthed kiss to his mouth.

“I’m gonna make it so good for you, buddy,” he promises, smoothing hands slowly down Matt’s sides to rest on his hips—fingers curling underneath his waistband. Matt can’t help but arch up into the touch, which gives Foggy the opportunity to pull his jeans down further, inching them down slowly until he can pull them off entirely and toss them to the floor.

Matt feels about seven different emotions at once when Foggy’s fingers touch his bare thighs, but they all translate to him gasping out Foggy’s name and saying, “ _Please_.”

**

Foggy kisses Matt’s hipbone as he tugs down his boxers, and Matt presses his fist to his teeth. “Foggy, please,” he begs.

“Get your shirt off,” Foggy orders softly, and Matt wriggles out of his sweatshirt, pitching it in a random direction before lying back a little awkwardly. Foggy goes still.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just. My fiance’s hot,” he whispers, his fingers trailing down Matt’s chest. Foggy leans down and kisses him again, and Matt bumps up against the teeth of the zipper of his hoodie. He winces. “Ow.”

“Let me take care of that,” Foggy reaches for Matt’s poor throbbing dick but Matt stops his hands.

“Foggy, aren’t you gonna… take off your clothes?”

“I will, but your biblically epic blue balls are a bit more important,” he licks his palm and wraps his hand around Matt, tugging slowly and making Matt’s toes curl.

“Kay,” Matt says faintly, his head falling back. 

Foggy hums and strokes him and tells him he’s pretty and soon he’s right where he was, on the point of a knife–on the edge of a cliff, ready to tip over, just tumble into free-fall. It’s ok, because he’s with Foggy, his fiance, his husband-to-be.

“With me so far?” Foggy asks, sliding his slick hand down over Matt’s aching balls and making him groan.

“Yup,” Matt breathes, one fist full of Foggy’s hoodie and the other full of bedsheet. Foggy laughs and does something  _new_  to the head of his dick–God, how many different things _are_ there?–that makes Matt shake uncontrollably. “Fog–think,” his back is so arched he feels it could break, “think I’m gonna– _close_  Foggy.”

Foggy’s tongue slips into Matt’s mouth, and his hand speeds up, and Matt makes a noise he’s never heard before, loud and completely uncontrolled, and it goes on and on  _and on_  as every part of his body from his heart down ignites like a line of firecrackers. 

“Welcome to your first non-accidental orgasm,” Foggy chuckles, as Matt clings to him and drags huge shuddering breaths into his lungs. His stomach is sticky and so’s his chest and he thinks he got himself under the chin but Foggy’s hand is  _soaked_  and still squeezing, still working him over and wringing shudders and weak sounds of surprise out of him.

Electricity feels like it’s racing over his skin, crackling and sparkling. Aftershocks make his feet kick. His body is suddenly all connected; the kisses Foggy presses to his lips–he feels them behind his knees, in the webs of his fingers, on his nipples.

“Foggy,” he gasps, “ _Oh my God_ , Foggy.”

“Yeah, baby?” Foggy licks at his slack, panting mouth. “Did you like that?”

Matt’s head flops to one side, “Yeah,” he pants, and beams up at Foggy, “I want another one.”

**

Foggy laughs, a bright and perfect sound.

“You can have as many as you want,” he promises, “but you’re going to have to wait a while for Little Matt here to get back in the game.” As if to prove his point, Foggy lets Matt’s dick drop back limply against Matt’s thigh and sits up a bit.

Matt screws up his face. “I don’t know if I like that nickname for it,” he says. His grip tightens reflexively as Foggy starts to move away. “Hey, no.”

“I’m just getting a tissue, buddy,” Foggy assures him, and Matt unlocks his fingers enough to let Foggy reach past him and clean off his hand, then clean off…well, quite a bit of Matt. He still feels jangly and oversensitive but Foggy seems to know that, somehow, and keeps his touches gentle. The tissues don’t get everything - Matt doesn’t think anything but a shower will - but his legs feel like noodles so true cleanliness will have to wait.

Foggy tosses the tissues somewhere in the direction of Matt’s wastebasket and starts to lie down. “Hey, what’s that frown for?”

Matt plucks at Foggy’s hoodie. “You said you’d take this off.”

“Oh!” Foggy sounds mildly surprised and…worried? But he draws back, takes off his hoodie and the t-shirt beneath, stands up to wiggle out of his jeans and, after a brief pause, his boxers. The scent of his arousal is stronger without clothing in the way, and even though Foggy’s right and Matt’s dick is out of the game for the moment, the smell still makes him want to rub himself all over Foggy like a cat.

Foggy pauses again and then lies back down, not quite touching Matt. Matt make a heroic effort and musters up enough energy to roll onto his side. “I want to - can I - ?” he asks, reaching out and stopping just before his fingers brush Foggy’s shoulder.

“…Sure,” Foggy says, and Matt frowns. Did Foggy not like what they did? Did Matt somehow do something wrong? He’s too mortified by the notion to ask, so he lets his hand make contact with Foggy’s shoulder instead, and strokes down.

The frown falls from his face as his fingers glide over soft, warm,  _fascinating_  skin. Foggy’s body is as rich as velvet, scattered with moles and the occasional tiny scar, dusted with peach fuzz and coarser hair down his sternum, over the giving curve of his belly. Matt shifts onto his knees, post-orgasm exhaustion forgotten in his urge to get two hands in there, to explore every inch of Foggy that he can.

Foggy’s pulse has been humming to him from the minute Matt made contact, but it gets faster every minute Matt spends exploring, until finally Foggy lets out a breathless laugh. “Wow,” he says. “I was a little nervous that you wouldn’t like what you, uh, felt, but judging by the look on your face I didn’t have to be.”

Matt frowns, perplexed, and sits back on his heels. “What?”

**

“No, it’s—it’s nothing,” Foggy says, and his laugh is  _fake,_ hair sliding across the sheets as he shakes his head; Matt reaches out a hand to touch it. “And luckily, you have nothing to compare me to and we’re—bound by God now, so. No take-backs.”

“Foggy,” he says, fingers moving to cup his cheek instead. “What the  _hell_  are you talking about?”

“Wow, I got a hell out of you,” Foggy says, softly. “Uh—I just— _okay._ “ He sighs, sitting up on his elbows. “You know how you’re, like,  _really_ hot?”

“Not really,” Matt says.

“Right,” Foggy says, “but surely you’ve  _heard_.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard a lot, but—“ Matt puts a hand on Foggy’s side, slides it slowly down to his hip, smiling cautiously. “I’m starting to think touching is more important.”

“Oh—oh, god, I’m  _so_ excited to keep doing this with you, we’re gonna have so much fun,” Foggy says, and Matt can hear him grinning. “I’m just saying—I’m not— _like_  you. I don’t have a body like yours or—or what are those, do you call those abs?” He slides a hand up Matt’s stomach and Matt makes a face at him. “I don’t have those, Matty.”

“So?” Matt asks.

“ _So_ ,” Foggy repeats. “You’re out of my league.”

“…that’s bullshit,” Matt says, instinctively, feeling angry and not even sure who it’s directed at, and Foggy gasps out a laugh.

“Okay, I think I’ve  _corrupted_ you,” he starts, but Matt interrupts him by leaning down and kissing him, still a little clumsy but he can feel Foggy’s moan all through his body.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to decide how hot you are,” he says, after they break the kiss, sitting up and putting both of his hands on Foggy’s stomach, spreading them out.

“Oh, yeah?” Foggy asks.

“Yeah,” Matt says, smiling. “That’s my job. Pretty sure it’s in the vows.”

He tightens his grip and takes in the feeling of soft skin underneath his fingers, the way Foggy’s body moves when he takes a sharp breath and lets it out shakily. Resolutely, he lets go and leans down to press a kiss to where his hands met.

“Matt—” Foggy whispers.

“Shh, just let me,” Matt says, pressing fingers into Foggy’s hipbones, the warm crease of his thighs, the backs of his knees—trailing kisses afterward. He learns every part of Foggy that he can then retraces it all over until he’s finally taking a deep breath and wrapping his fingers around the base of Foggy’s dick. Foggy makes a startled noise and Matt lets go immediately, eyebrows furrowing.

“No, hey, that was a good noise,” Foggy says, laughing breathlessly. “You just surprised me.”

Matt laughs, too, hesitating for a moment before he licks his palm and tries again, moving his hand up and down a few times before he asks, hopefully, “Is that okay?”

“It’s—it’s great, buddy, you’re perfect,” Foggy whispers hoarsely, hips moving up, a whine in the back of his throat when Matt experimentally tightens his grip. He moves so he can kiss Foggy at the same time, amazed by the sound of everything Foggy’s body is doing just because Matt’s touching it.

Foggy tells Matt when he’s close, mumbles it against his lips, and Matt slows his hand down and says, “I just—I have to make sure you know how hot you are first, okay?”

“…I  _can’t_  believe you already know how to be a tease,” Foggy says, and Matt smiles down at him, shaking his head.

“ _Okay_?” he repeats.

**

Foggy drags his nails down Matt’s back–which makes shivers erupt all over, up his spine and even under his hair–and says, “yeah, ok, Matty, anything you want.”

Matt beams. “This marriage thing is gonna work out great.”

Foggy’s belly is shaking with laughter as Matt bends down to kiss it, and Matt runs his palms over it, traces the valley where his belly becomes his chest, and finds Foggy’s nipple.

He bites his lip. There were days, when he was struggling with self-control, that the ache wasn’t just between his legs, sometimes it was up here too, and there was no one he could ask why it was happening, or if pinching his nipples until the throb went away qualified as a sexual sin. But if Matt was tempted to, it must be something good, right?”

“Foggy, can I touch–”

Foggy’s fingers twirl through Matt’s hair. “You can touch anything.”

Grinning, Matt circles Foggy’s nipple with his finger, then his tongue, then he wraps his teeth around it gently and tugs.

“Oh yeah,” Foggy groans.

“That’s good?”

“ _So good_.”

Matt grins and moves to the Foggy’s other nipple. As his licks, he pinches the first one. Foggy makes a sound through his teeth and moves his hips, rubbing hotly against Matt suddenly-excited dick.

“Feels like Little Matt’s up for round two,” Foggy groans and laughs at the same time.

“Stop calling it that,” Matt grits out, trying to keep his hips from circling down into a Foggy’s and failing miserably.

“Hey,” Foggy rolls them over so that he’s cradled between Matt’s legs and hooks Matt’s ankles behind his hips. “Can I show you something?”

**

“The last thing you showed me was pretty good, so sure,” Matt says, trying to sound airy. There’s something about the weight of Foggy on top of him, the feeling of being pinned down and Foggy’s pulse beating through all their points of contact, that makes him feel breathless and  _hungry_.

Foggy laughs. “Look at you, all blase now.” He gives Matt a sweet smooch, then shifts slightly so that his dick is pressed up against Matt’s exactly. It feels thrilling and illicit, touching like this, even more than touching each other with their hands did.

“Oh,” Matt says softly.

“Hang on to the sheets, kid, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Foggy says, and rolls his hips, dragging himself against Matt. The feeling of him, hard and heavy and stroking against Matt, sends sparks shooting up Matt’s spine.

“Foggy,” he gasps, and clutches at Foggy’s arms instead of the sheets - too hard, too hard, he catches himself too late and yanks his hands back.

But Foggy laughs again, as if Matt didn’t just grab him hard enough to bruise. “So all those muscles aren’t just for show, huh?” he asked. “Did  _not_  know I was into that, but I guess we’re both learning stuff today.”

“I’m sorry…” Matt starts to say.

“Psh,” Foggy says, and kisses him again. “Did I not just say I was into it? Put those bruiser hands back on me, Murdock, I wanna get manhandled.”

Matt obeys tentatively, then clutches tighter - though not as tight as before - as Foggy’s hips start moving again. “You -  _hh_  - have weird kinks, Foggy.”

“Mm, wait’ll we find out yours.” Foggy presses a kiss to Matt’s jaw. “Now that you don’t have to pray your boners away you should, uh, listen to a lot of porn to figure out what you want to try. I’m telling you right now I’m down for anything.”

Matt hasn’t watched - or listened to - any porn deliberately, it’s true, but he can hear it playing from three different computers right now if he tries, and actual sex from two other rooms. He can’t pretend he’s worldly, but he  _also_  can’t pretend there aren’t a few things he’s been intrigued by but never quite let himself imagine doing personally. Some with Foggy, specifically.

“O-okay,” he manages, though talking is really hard right now and he’s not sure how Foggy’s managing it, “but no,  _unh_ , no takebacks if it gets too weird.”

“Hell, no,” Foggy says. “You’re my favorite kind of weird.”

**

Matt smiles up at him helplessly, tightening his legs around Foggy and shoving up, groaning when Foggy rocks down to meet him. Matt’s already close again, and he thinks Foggy must be, too, because his heart’s pounding and his hips are moving even faster like he’s chasing the same feeling that Matt is.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, thickly, needing Foggy to know how he feels before they fall over this cliff together even if he’s barely able to string two words together right now. “So hot, Foggy. You’re perfect. Can’t believe you’re finally mine.”

“Finally?” Foggy asks, hitching Matt’s legs up higher, making Matt gasp out a breathy, embarrassing noise. 

“I wanted you since–since the first day,” Matt says. He had resolutely ignored it since the first day, too, because it was too much to contend with, getting to college and automatically lusting after his very male roommate. It’s not the first time Matt’s ever been attracted to someone but it’s the first time it’s felt so urgent, especially now that he doesn’t have to fight it anymore, now that he can  _touch_. 

“God,” Foggy says, laughing. “Me, too. Second I saw you, buddy. It’s been hell.” 

“Sorry,” Matt gasps. “I didn’t–didn’t know I could have this. Shit, Foggy,  _please_. I want you so much.”

Foggy kisses him again, bites gently at Matt’s lip before he murmurs, “You’ve got me, Matty. Are you gonna come for me?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Matt chants, giving up on keeping a rhythm and letting Foggy move them as he throws his head back and arches his back, making a noise that’s caught between a scream and a laugh when he comes hard with Foggy grinding down against him. It’s just as amazing as last time, the feeling of letting go for Foggy, but now Foggy’s following him, sitting up before Matt can react and jerking himself off so his come streaks Matt’s stomach. 

“…wow,” Foggy says, as their pulses slow down, wiping his hand off on the sheets and carefully unwrapping Matt from where he’s still clinging to him just to fold him up in his arms again, hugging him tightly.

“I wanted to do that for you,” Matt says, faintly accusatory, punctuated with a yawn. He feels exhausted and strung out and  _great,_ like he just had a really intense workout, like he ran until he couldn’t run anymore.

“Next time,” Foggy promises, kissing Matt’s hair. “We’re gonna have a lot of next times, honey.”

**

Matt closes his eyes and scrapes his nails through his sweaty hair, content to just lie here with Foggy’s arms around him and their bodies moving together with every breath.

“Crap,” Foggy mutters, several gropey, handsy, kiss-filled minutes later. “I just remembered something.”

“What’s that?”

“We have classes tomorrow.”

Matt turns and moans into Foggy’s arm. “Fuck it, I’m skipping. You should too.”

Foggy throws his head back and laughs. “Sexing, swearing, skipping classes–you’re a whole new man.”

“I’m a married man. Or, you know. Almost.”

Foggy strokes Matt’s face with the back of his fingers and kisses him, then winces. “We are super gross right now. What do you say we shower–separately, it’s a communal bathroom, Matt,” he insists when Matt opens his mouth, “get in my bed and make the most of the rest of our Sunday?”

“I like the way you think,” Matt agrees happily, and stretches his arms over his head.

“Maybe in a few minutes,” Foggy says, sinking his face under Matt’s jaw and biting.

“I  _really_  like the way you think,” Matt moans, grabbing gentle handfuls of Foggy’s hair.

An hour later, Matt’s waiting on Foggy’s bed, running a towel over his wet hair, when Foggy’s phone starts to ring. 

For a second, Matt considers answering it, but thankfully Foggy comes back from the bathroom with his bathroom caddy in his hand and his wet hair tied up in a bun. 

“Foggy, phone,” Matt calls, snatching it up from the bedside table and holding it out.

“Oh thanks, that’s probably my mom,” Foggy says happily. “Sunday night, just like clockwork.”

Matt jerks like someone’s screamed in his ear. Foggy doesn’t seem to have realized what he just said, but Matt feels all the strength leave his limbs, and he just sits there with the towel over his head like the world’s most Catholic cartoon ghost.

“Hi Ma! I’m fine. Yeah, he’s here. I took him to Central Park today, and then we–”

The moment it hits Foggy, he flails so hard the phone flips out of his hand. It lands with a clatter on the floor between them, Foggy’s mother going “hello? Hello?”

“Oh shit,” Foggy whispers, “I have to tell my mom.”

**

Matt feels cold, and he doesn’t think it’s because he’s sitting there in boxers and wet hair. He’s never met Foggy’s parents, though Foggy’s been making noises about Matt coming to his house for Thanksgiving next week, but he has to imagine a broke, blind,  _male_  orphan who’s only known their son for two months isn’t exactly the kid-in-law they were dreaming of. A broke, blind, male orphan with freakish senses, no less.

He somehow gets even colder.  _He hasn’t told Foggy about his senses._

This might just be the shortest engagement ever.

“Hello?” Mrs. Nelson is still calling from the floor. Foggy fumbles for it, dropping his towel as he goes.

“Sorry, Ma,” he says. “I just got out of the shower and my hands are wet, the phone slipped.”

Normally Matt tries not to listen in on Foggy’s conversations with his parents, because it’s rude and because letting himself live vicariously, even for a second, is an easy route to wallowing forever in envy and grief, but now he eavesdrops shamelessly.

“Well, say hi to Matt for me,” Mrs. Nelson says. “Are you bringing that boy home for Thanksgiving or what? Your father and I are dying to meet the famous Matt Murdock.”

“Uh, I’m, uh, still working on it,” Foggy says, and Matt suspects Foggy’s glancing at him. “I think so. I think he’ll, uh, he’ll want to come. Now.”

“Good,” she says. “You’ve been talking him up so much, it’s about time we met him. Besides, I can’t bear the thought of him having Thanksgiving dinner in that awful dining hall. He sounds like he needs some love.”

Heat races over Matt, alternating with the chills of dread he’s already grappling with. He’s not sure if he’s pleased that Foggy apparently talks about him a lot or ashamed that Mrs. Nelson apparently thinks he’s a pathetic urchin, or just worried that she’ll happily have a pathetic urchin at her Thanksgiving table but not in her family.

“I’m working on that too,” Foggy says, and Matt’s mouth hangs open. “Listen, Ma, I gotta get dressed and put my shower stuff away, I’ll call you later?”

“Okay. Love you, cookie.”

Matt can’t even bring himself to regret not having a good excuse to make fun of Foggy over the nickname, because Foggy’s hanging up and sitting down next to Matt with a sigh. “So this is going to be an interesting Thanksgiving,” he says.

Matt swallows. “I don’t have to come, if it would make it awkward. Or if you don’t want to…to tell your folks about…”

“What? Oh, Matty, no.” Foggy tugs the forgotten towel off of Matt’s head and laces his fingers with Matt’s. “They’re gonna love you. They’re gonna replace me with you, probably, you’re so great. It’s more that I…haven’t exactly come out to them?”

Matt’s eyebrows lift. Foggy’s so open about everything… “Really?”

Foggy shrugs. “I just shrugged, sorry. I mean, when I was fourteen my mom told me she was here if I ever needed to tell her anything about myself and that they’d be happy with anyone I brought home who made  _me_  happy, so, like, you’re nailing it, buddy!” He elbows Matt, but Matt can’t bring himself to smile. “Honestly I’m pretty sure she already knew I had a crush on you. I didn’t think I was going to have to have the coming out conversation and the engagement conversation at once, you know?”

“Well…” Matt doesn’t want to do this. He wants to sit here nearly naked next to Foggy and wallow in the fact that Foggy apparently had a crush on him so obvious his mother picked it up over the phone.

But Foggy deserves to know.

“I have something to tell you…”

**

“Of course,” Foggy says, shifting tones immediately, clearly able to read the look on Matt’s face that’s probably screaming something pathetic like  _please don’t leave me._ He starts to let go of Matt’s hand and Matt just holds on tighter, swallowing hard. 

“You know what happened with my accident?” Matt asks. 

“Just what the news and you told me,” Foggy says, curiously. “Matt Murdock, boy hero of Hell’s Kitchen.” 

Matt smiles faintly, shaking his head, ignoring Foggy calling him a hero to say, desperately, “Remember that you like the fact that I’m weird, okay?” 

Foggy laughs, shifting closer to him and placing his other hand on top of Matt’s. “Okay.” 

“The accident–everything that happened with it–did a lot more than take my sight,” Matt says and then he details it all to Foggy, unpracticed in describing it but Foggy just sits patiently and listens until Matt tells him that he can hear his heartbeat. 

“Seriously?” Foggy asks. “You’re not screwing with me?” 

Matt shakes his head. “It’s–really fast right now. Are you mad? I would’ve told you sooner, but I wasn’t expecting–you know. Wedding bells.” 

“No, I’m not mad,” Foggy says. “It’s just–hard to believe? Not that I think you’re lying, because I know you, I know you wouldn’t–wait, so you can  _seriously,_ like, smell my emotions?” 

“Uhm, kind of?” Matt says. “Fear and–uhm–” 

Matt makes a vague gesture and Foggy laughs, suddenly. 

“You can smell my boners,” he says, sounding delighted before he gasps. “Oh, god, you could hear– _everything_ , couldn’t you? All the jerking off. God, that’s embarrassing.” 

“I liked it,” Matt says, immediately, too quick. He flushes red and finally lets go of Foggy to bury his face in his hands. “Ugh, I mean–I didn’t mind. Hearing you. And if it helps, I completely understand why you do it so often now.”

Foggy laughs again and wraps his arms around Matt to pull him into a hug, and Matt burrows into it, relieved that Foggy doesn’t seem to really mind at all. He’s really lucky. He picked a good person to get spontaneously engaged to, the  _right_ person. 

“Thanks for telling me, I know it couldn’t have been easy,” Foggy says, close to his ear. “Now, is that it, or do you have any other weird origin stories?”

Matt thinks about learning to fight, to use his senses for something useful. 

“Maybe one more,” he says, hesitantly. 

*

“I guess you weren’t kidding when you said we’re skipping classes tomorrow,” Foggy says drily, as Matt tows him by the hand down the street at 1 a.m, past the College Walk and into the centre of campus.

“It won’t take long, I promise,” Matt says, coming to a halt next to the Butler Library. He takes a deep breath and listens hard for heartbeats, stretching his range more than he’s had to since he was a kid. All he hears is Foggy; the campus is truly deserted. Not a janitor, not a stressed-out grad student for a block in every direction. Not a mechanical whirr of a security camera or the fritzing buzz of a street light. They’re completely alone.

“Is it bright enough to see?” he asks.

“Just about. There’s a crescent moon. Romantic. Oh! Are we gonna have sex here?” Foggy asks delightedly. Matt bites his lip at the thought of holding Foggy down in the manicured grass and shakes his head to clear it.

Matt snaps the cord around his bundled-up cane. “Hold this for me, will you?” He hands it to Foggy and jumps up–backwards–to land a toehold on a second-story window ledge.

The cane bundle clatters to the ground between Foggy’s feet.

He boulders up, ledge by ledge, till he’s on the roof.

“Holy fucking shitballs,” Foggy breathes. Matt waves, then points towards the next building.

“Wait, you’re not gonna jump, are you?” Foggy doesn’t yell, he just speaks normally. Matt nods.

“Dude, this isn’t cool anymore, come down, I’m too young to be a widower…” Foggy babbles, heart pounding, as Matt gauges the distance. “You just wanna get out of meeting my parents, don’t you?”

The two buildings are separated by a path, not that wide at all, but it’s been a few years since he last did this and his heart is racing.

He grins as he listens to Foggy blustering frantically on the ground. “Hi ma, got something to tell you–I got engaged! For like nine hours. What happened? Oh, it turned out that he was part spider-monkey and part death-obsessed lemming and oh my GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING.”

Foggy’s heart does something frankly  _medically dangerous_  as Matt’s sneakers leave the roof edge, then he’s airborne–flying free for a few ecstatic heartbeats. He lands on the top of the building, pivots, then jumps back down to ground level, using railings and a handy tree to ease his way. He lands in front of Foggy.  

“Ta da?” Matt says, in his best  _please like me_  voice.

“What the fuck” Foggy says feelingly, before throwing his arms around Matt and crashing their mouths together. Foggy kisses him so ferociously they lose their footing and Matt ends up dragging Foggy down onto the grass. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“M’sorry, don’t hate me,” Matt begs, “I couldn’t stand it if you hated me.”

  
“Oh fuck, I don’t, Matt. I don’t,” Foggy vows against his mouth. “I couldn’t hate you. I love you.”

**

Matt tries to kiss Foggy, but he can’t because he’s smiling too hard. “You do?” he asks.

Foggy nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Is that crazy or what?”

Matt presses his hands to Foggy cheeks to feel that he’s smiling too. “Me too,” he says, “Foggy, me too, and it is, but I don’t care.” It doesn’t matter how fast it is. It doesn’t matter that Foggy’s his first boy, his first real friend, his first… _everything_. Somewhere between those first fumbling touches in their room to Foggy impossibly, miraculously accepting everything about Matt, everything right down to his core, he fell the rest of the way in love.

Foggy kisses Matt this time, then pushes up to his feet and helps Matt stand. “We can never, ever tell our grandkids how we got together.”

Matt cracks up, burying his face in Foggy’s shoulder. No, no they can’t. But that doesn’t matter. They’re having  _grandkids_.

“Come on…honey,” he says, trying out the endearment to see how it feels. From the way Foggy grabs for his hand and squeezes it, he likes hearing it as much as Matt likes saying it. “Let’s go home.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow us all on Tumblr where things like this are born:  
> \- [poisonivory](http://pluckyredhead.tumblr.com)  
> \- [werelibrarian](http://werelibrarian.tumblr.com)  
> \- [returnsandreturns](http://returnsandreturns.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [When Your Heart Beats (Next to Mine) (Podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126747) by [auroreanrave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave)




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